The Edge Of Heaven
by xX-Misty
Summary: Alex chooses the wrong window of The Railway Arms to jump from. Arriving on the opposite side of the car park this time she is not alone and one conversation delays her for long enough for time to jump forward and the world to become a very lonely place indeed. With not a penny to her name and no one to turn to she's driven to make a desperate choice. Warning, dark.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Not mincing words; this was born of a combination of losing my confidence, wishing I'd never started writing again and pain that reached an unbearable pitch last night.**_

_**My first A2A fic was 'Out of the Window', which saw Alex jumping out of the toilet window in the Railway Arms to go back to Gene and make a fresh start with him and his world. But what if she'd jumped from the wrong window? What if she'd landed in the other side of the car park and hadn't been alone?**_

_**I'm not apologising for the tone of this piece, it's dark for a reason.**_

_**~xXx~**_

She could see her breath in the air on the cold, winter's evening as she stood there, scanning the familiar space with her eyes. She felt a little breathless as she took in every detail of the car park; the one she'd passed through on a daily basis for the last 3 years, the one she thought she was never going to see again.

"_I'm home,"_ she whispered.

It was funny but until just an hour or so before she would never have thought of it as home. _Home_ was where Molly was waiting for her. _Home_ was where her body was fighting against the bullet, the infection, the weakening that it had been through. _Home_ was where she had her house, her clothes, her car, her furniture, all of her memories. That's where _home_ was.

But as she bowed her head she pictured the watch she'd looked at earlier that night. 9:06. Eternally 9:06. She was never going to see the hands moving again because her body had given up. Was it her fault? Could she have done anything more? Had she become too attached to Gene's world and stopped fighting hard enough? That thought stung her heart but she knew it was possible.

Molly had been everything to her. Her daughter, her flesh and blood, her reason to fight. But as time had gone by she found herself thinking of her daughter less and less as Gene's world swallowed her up. She integrated so completely that Molly ended up far from her thoughts. There was someone else with whom she found herself concerned instead. _Gene_. Her rock. Her constant, her Guv. Their solid partnership had become a close friendship and it drew so near to becoming something far deeper, They'd had their date, they'd danced. They'd come so close to moving things forward and finally they'd shared a kiss, but it was a kiss goodbye. She'd spent so long denying what was in her heart until it was too late. Her feelings for Gene had grown steadily. Had they overpowered her desire to return to Molly?

Whether that was true or not she knew where she was. She was home. She belonged by Gene's side, she belonged in his life. She had a whole life of her own at Fenchurch East now. So some of her friends and colleagues had moved on. It was right for them. They had each other, they had grown and they had learnt. But Alex still had her time to play out, and she needed to give life with Gene a chance, a _proper_ chance. No more fighting. No more trying to go back. She was already home.

"_Alex!"_

Alex's blood ran cold as she heard that voice. She heard him say her name and it sounded like hell approaching. She spun around and there he was before her, hiding in his long coat, his spectacles masking what was truly hidden behind his eyes.

"Jim," she felt sick as she stared at him, the thought that she had ever trusted him eating away at her soul.

"_Now_ do you believe me?"

She blinked as she tried to work out what he was talking about. For someone who had just gone through the terrible charade that he'd put them all through that day he was certainly not backing down.

"It's over, Jim," she said to him bitterly, "whatever you were really here for – to destroy us all, to bring down the team, to destroy Gene – you failed. It's over."

"Yes, Alex," Keats told her angrily, "It is over. For_ you."_

She stared at him. There was a panicked look in his eye.

"I've come back," she whispered, "I know I'm not alive out there… not any longer… but I still have a job to do… my place is here, and –"

"After what he's just done to you you'll still put him above your own life?" Keats cried, "above your own happiness?"

Alex couldn't make any sense of his words.

"What are you talking about?" she whispered, her confusion mingling with anger.

"You trusted him, Alex, you trusted him blindly even though I put my own neck on the line to show you who he really was and now you have _nothing!"_

"I have Gene," Alex tried to sound defiant but her whole body was beginning to shake.

"You've got nothing!" Keats cried. There was an ironic laugh in his voice, "you really think you have a job to come back to? A _life?_You think Hunt is going to… what… sweep you off your feet? Carry you over the threshold?" he shook his head, his eyes fixed on her as her stare began to falter, "he lied to you for all that time and I showed you who he really was. He kept you here against your will and I showed you how to get home. I gave you the scarf –"

"Molly's scarf," Alex breathed. She stared down at her empty hands, "it… it faded away," she whispered her eyes turning back to him and her voice becoming louder and stronger as she continued, "It wasn't real, it was just an illusion –"

"An illusion?" Keats gave a bitter laugh, "This whole sorry _world_ that Gene's built for himself – _that's_ an illusion. The pub? You think heaven serves beer and spirits and a selection of pork scratchings? Do me a favour. What do you think is going to happen to them all?"

"I…" Alex hesitated, She didn't know. She knew that Chris had bought everyone a drink. She just supposed they would drink… and drink… and drink some more… "I thought… maybe time… she trailed away. She didn't know. She just didn't _know_.

"Heaven isn't an eternal bender," Keats told her, "you go in, you get your drink and that's it. You fade away because he's finished with you. He doesn't need you any more. He's moved on."

"No," Alex shook her head, "that's… that's the _reward_. At the _end_."

"Does it make sense to you?" Kats asked her grimly, "just sitting in a pub, drinking forever? What, do you never go to bed? Never take a bath? Never have a proper meal? Can't live on cheese and onion all your life."

"I… don't know," Alex fund herself shaking, "I hadn't thought that far…"

"They never do," Keats told her, "They just believe. They just trust him blindly. They just do as he says,. They just walk through that door, just like you did. Away from your life. Away from your little girl forever."

"I'm already _dead!_ I can never get home to Molly!"

"Is that what you truly believe?" Keats looked her in the eye, "you really believe in your heart? You don't think for one minute that Hunt was trying to stop you from leaving? That he wanted to keep you here? Keep you all for himself? You were still alive out there, Alex, and I could have helped you home. I showed you the proof. I had Molly's scarf but you still trusted the word of an over-the-hill-stroke-teenage-alcoholic over me. The scarf faded away because _you_ did. You let go of your life the moment you walked into the pub, on his request."

Alex took a step backward, trembling from head to toe.

"No…"

"_Yes,"_ he moved forward and reached towards her, cupping her face in his hands, "Alex, _listen_ to me," he urged, "you played right into his hands. Even after you knew the truth you still believed that he knew best. He _misled_ you. He told you that you were dead and told you to go. He told you to _leave_, Alex. He told you to leave him. If he loved you what would he say that for?"

"To protect me. He wanted –"

"He wanted to keep you away from your daughter," Keats told her, "your time here was over. You had to go home or go forward and he wasn't going to send you back. He just wanted you for himself and when he couldn't have that he wouldn't let you home either. If _he_ couldn't have you _no_ one could."

Alex's mouth gaped as she tried to take in what he was telling her. She couldn't believe it. She didn't believe it… not really… yet some seeds of doubt were there in her mind. She swallowed and shook as she pushed him away and whispered,

"Well… I'm back now. By my own choice. I left the pub to be with Gene. And whatever his reasons, I've chosen to stay here."

Keats's expression hovered between a grin and a glare.

"Oh, you _silly_ girl," he said, shaking his head, "don't you get it?" he leaned a little closer, his hot breath on her face as he told her, "_He's moved on. "_

"I've only been gone –"

"Two years, Alex," Keats told her, "Time moves quickly here, when it needs to. Too much water has passed under the bridge This isn't your home any more. This isn't the place you knew. There's no one here to welcome you with open arms." He hesitated, trying to keep away the smile, "Well. There's _one_ person."

Alex stared at him. For some time she felt as though she was frozen. His eyes were locked on hers, urging her to speak, to give in, to bend to his will. She thought about it, her mind went back over everything that she'd been through since she was shot in the stomach. Her _coma within a coma_, Keats arriving on the scene, the distrust that built up between herself and Gene… and Keats had encouraged that, but if Gene had told her that truth in the first place then that would never have happened. But he hadn't. he might not have lied to her but he deliberately kept her in the dark.

Keats's eyes were deep and impassioned. They bore right into her soul. She felt as though he was reading her from the inside out, like every thought was laid out in plain sight for him to see. His expression began to twist into a smile; one of those open, friendly smiles that he'd used so many times to lure her in. But what if she was wrong? What if they were open and genuine and her initial choice of trusting him was the right one? Gene hadn't been honest with her. He'd misled her – he'd misled them all. So he didn't remember – he must have known something wasn't right – why would he have followed her way all the way to Farringfield Green if he hadn't? Why would he have aimed a gun at her head?

And then the pub. He'd taken them all there, never explaining to them for a moment what was about to take place. Ray, Chris, Shaz… they'd discovered their deaths and had time to take it in but as soon as Alex was told she'd lost her battle Gene was hurrying her into the pub, Alone.

_Alone._

"Think about it Alex, " Keats began as though he could read her mind, "if he cared about you so much then why did he want to get rid of you? Why did he send you in alone? If he's the man you think he was why didn't he walk through that door by your side?"

"Because," her voice wavered, "because he still has a job to do… he…"

"Gone."

Alex hesitated.

"What do you mean, _gone?"_

"Moved on," Keats shrugged, "didn't hang around for long after you passed over the threshold."

"Just wait a minute," Alex began angrily "I only left the pub…. not fifteen minutes ago…" Her heart was racing. How could she be dead if it was beating so fast?

"I told you," Keats smiled, "time moves differently here. It's sped up. Just while we've been talking here the years have passed. Two years disappeared… and a new recruit stumbled through the doors… then moments later another year had flown and Gene had transferred out,."

"I don't believe you," Alex hissed, turning around and marching towards the station.

"Stay with _me_, Alex," Keats called after her, "stay with me and you can begin again. New job, new station, new life." He watched her walking away and raised his voice. "he's not _there_, Alex," he cried, "he's moved on long before now. _There's nothing left."_

Alex shook her head bitterly as she carried on walking, pulling her coat around her. Keats had told one lie too many and this time she wasn't going to fall for it. She'd been gone only a little over an hour – things couldn't have changed that much. Her face flushed with fury as she slipped from the cold night air into the warm atmosphere of the station and strode to CID.

Immediately she could tell the difference. The change was indescribable. It was dark, cold, unfriendly. Something wasn't right. As she walked through the office the ceiling panels flickered but never quite managed to burn brightly. Where were all the usual faces? Terry? Bammo? There were empty desks and an empty atmosphere as she paced towards Gene's door; the door on which she thought his name had been eternally emblazoned. Now all that remained of it was a slight discolouration where it used to be. Through the glass she could see a man she didn't know and before she could stop herself she'd opened the door and stepped inside.

The man behind the desk looked surprised and somewhat annoyed.

"Yes?" he barked.

Alex stared on. She didn't know what to say at first. What he hell was she even _supposed_ to? What could she even ask? She swallowed, then ran her tongue around her dry lips before she whispered,

"Gene. Where is he?"

"Gene?" the men behind the desk frowned.

"DCI Hunt," Alex said stiffly, "He… this is his… _was…_ his office," she flinched a little as she used the past tense but a tiny spark seemed to ignite in the man's head.

_"Ohh,"_ he said, "he's gone."

"Gone where, exactly?" Alex asked.

The man shrugged.

"Moved on. Different station. Somewhere down on the south coast I think."

"Do you know where exactly?"

"Wouldn't have a clue, love," the man told her, "Who's asking anyway?"

"I'm his DI," Alex said coolly.

"Then you'd know better than I would."

"_Was,"_ Alex flinched again, "I _was_ his DI. Back when he worked here."

"_DI… DI…"_ the man sighed and shook his head, "think I would have remembered a woman DI in the place. Last one he had before he moved on was some pillock; went by the name of Shoebury. You sure you're in the right place?"

A very cold sensation fell upon Alex and trickled from the top of her head right through her body. She shivered visibly.

"No," she whispered, "I'm not sure that I am." She slowly turned around, her head lowered, "excuse me."

She left the office, shaking and trembling as a terrible sense of anxiety ravaged her limbs. She could hardly force herself to walk on, scarcely wanting to seek the truth but knowing all the same that she had no other choice,

She enquired about taking a car from the pool but the officer on the desk looked rather cautious,

"ID?" he asked, he'd never seen Alex before in his life, and for that matter Alex had never seen him either. Who the hell _was_ he anyway? Why was there no one that she recognised? She hadn't seen a single familiar person since she set foot back inside the building.

She handed her ID to the officer.

"Here," she said stiffly and leaned back nervously against the desk while he checked it, A moment later it came back towards her.

"I'm sorry."

She froze.

"Tell me exactly what you're sorry for?" she demanded.

"You need a current arrest warrant," the officer said apologetically, "this one is three years out of date.

"What do you mean?" Alex demanded, "I've used it all the time. I just used it yesterday and there was no problem,."

"Detective inspector Alex Drake hasn't been a part of this station since nineteen eighty three," the officer said almost apologetically, "I would like to know how you came to be in possession of her identification."

"Because I _am_ DI Alex Drake!" Alex cried.

"DI Drake died three years ago," the officer told her.

Alex froze and stared at him. She couldn't look him quite in the eye. His words had scared her beyond recognition. She felt herself trebling again as she stared at the ID in her hand.

"How…" she swallowed and took in a deep breath. "how did _she_ die?" she whispered.

"Heist gone wrong," the officer told her, "wiped out most of CID. You must have heard about that, it was all over the headlines." He nodded towards the ID in her hands. "So I'll ask you again. Where did you get that?"

Alex felt herself backing away. Her fear levels had risen beyond all recognition.

"it's mine," she whispered as she began to turn and her pace picked up from a crawl to a run, "It is _mine!"_

She raced from the building and out into the car park, eyes scanning the expanse for Keats but there was no sign of him. What the hell was going _on?_ where was Gene? Why did they say that she'd _died?_ It made no sense… _nothing_ made sense.

She stumbled out of the car park and down towards her flat; her _sanctuary_. She would escape into Luigi's first and down a bottle of red to take the edge off, then she would roll up into bed and sleep deeply until she awoke tomorrow with a sore head and, hopefully, a world returned to right. But her plans hit a snag as she found Luigi's empty and boarded up with the same fate befalling her flat.

_"No,"_ she cried, her voice surprisingly high and anxious, "no, this isn't _right_…" she knew that Luigi had spoken about going home just a day or so before but for things to happen this fast? Almost overnight? What about her flat? What about all her _things?_ She struggled to pull away a board in the hope of entering the building but she couldn't free it. It didn't matter what she tried, the boards were going nowhere, and even if she'd been successful it would have done no good; all of her things had been removed and put away in storage somewhere three years earlier. Others had even come and gone in that time. But now it was empty, decrepit and desolate.

As she gave the board a last, furious jolt with her shoulder she cried out in pain. She'd tried too hard and now her skin felt bruised and her joint a little out of place.

She paced away from the building, rubbing at her shoulder, trying to get a grip on where she was or what she was doing. She checked her pockets. If she had money then she could at least find a hotel to sleep until morning and then go from there. Maybe she could see someone at the station, her superiors, maybe the Superintendent – presuming he was still there. But then again, she was – _dead?_ Killed in the _heist?_ No, she wasn't dead. But she _had_ moved on. The pub. _Heaven_ – whatever _passed_ for it at least. So technically… she supposed that meant she _was_ dead. In a way.

She put her hand to her head and came to a halt by the road where she sank onto a wall, breathing heavily. She felt like she could hyperventilate at any moment. Dear god, was this a _panic_ attack heading her way?

_Keep calm, Alex. Stay calm. you can get through this._

She sat there for several minutes, taking in her breaths one after another, trying to stay as calm as she could until she felt her breathing return to normal and her heart stop thumping like a rogue bassline in her chest. When she'd calmed down enough she reached for her pockets once again. There had to be _something_ in there, something apart from her defunct ID. A cheque book? Some cash? Even a fucking _library_ card would have been better than nothing but the ID was all that she had. No money. Nowhere to go. No one to turn to. Gene had gone, her friends moved on and she was never going home.

Who could she turn to? Who could help her back on her feet? There was no Shaz, no Chris, no Ray. Her parents were dead, just as they had been the first time around. There was Evan? But that was a longshot and she really didn't want to see him again after the things she had found out about his connection with her parents' death. And besides, Little Alex wasn't so little any more and she didn't want to risk him spotting the similarity.

She found herself ailing; wandering the streets, It was a freezing cold night but she felt so numb that she didn't even notice. She wasn't sure how long she walked for. She tried to find something that was open, a café or a restaurant, but even when she found some place she had no money and was asked to leave. _ 'Please may I have a glass of tap water' _apparently didn't cut it.

So she walked again. And Midnight arrived. _One, two a.m._ Her fingers were almost blue from the cold and her lips were tingling where they were chapping on the spot. She licked them to keep them moisturised but then the freezing air simply did further damage to their delicate surface.

_Three a.m., four, five._ She ran out of energy for waking and curled up on a bench neat the Thames. She longed for a pillow to rest her throbbing head or a blanket to draw around her shivering frame. Her tongue felt like sandpaper. She was desperate for a drink, her thirst had been growing steadily for the last few hours and it reached a point where she couldn't stand it any longer. She'd tried desperately to find a free source of water. She'd looked for a public fountain or even rainwater collecting somewhere clean but there was nothing. She walked outside of pubs and restaurants hoping to see a discarded bottle or a glass but her thirst remained unquenched. It began to drive her crazy. It was all she could think abut; her rasping tongue, dry and rough. There was a funny taste in her mouth and she would have killed to at least clean her teeth but if water was beyond her reach then how was she going to get hold of toothpaste and a toothbrush?

_Six a.m. Seven a.m._ Eight rolled around. She would be heading to work now. She should have been dried off from her shower; teeth cleaned, breakfast in her belly and a cup of coffee in her hands as she checked her appearance in the mirror. Usually she would be starting out immaculately; there would be not a hair out of place. As it was, her hair fell frustratingly over her eyes. Her hair clips had migrated and her style had followed. Her hair was lank and heavy from the spitting drizzle in the air and hung limp around the sides of her face.

Eight o'clock turned to nine and she felt a deep, hungry rumble in her stomach. She'd been feeling the hunger pangs for a while but they took hold of her quite severely now. She hadn't managed to eat very much the day before, nor the day before _that_ for that matter. No wonder she felt so empty and so drained.

She sank against another wall in defeat as she closed her eyes and tried to choke back tears. She'd lost everything. Everything that was good in her life? And why? Because she hadn't trusted Gene. She'd chiselled away bit by bit at his world until it cracked open and its heart was revealed for all to see, Now there was nothing left; the pieces discarded, Gene gone, her friends unreachable and her future null and void.

As the morning rolled on she felt in pieces, her body cold and tired, dark circles beneath her eyes signalling her lack of sleep and a trickle of blood that ran unnoticed from her lip that had cracked so severely in the icy air but she couldn't feel because the cold had set in so deeply. The soft, pale skin of her cheeks was chapped and icy to the touch and her coat did little to protect her from a night out in the elements.

She had nowhere to go. There was no one to turn to for help. Everyone she knew was gone. If she only had some money to buy her a little time; find somewhere warm to sleep for a few hours, put some food in her stomach and quench her raging thirst, then just maybe she could work out where to go next.

She found herself walking almost aimlessly towards the bank. Just maybe her account was still in existence. Maybe they could issue her with a new cheque book, enable her to access her money, allow her to pay for something to eat and drink or somewhere to sleep for a night sothat she could regain the strength and the fight she needed to begin anew. She felt the warm air strike her as she came in from the cold. Her cheeks started to burn up, her body suddenly taken by the heat after endless hours in the cold. Her skin struggled to adjust to the change of temperature and she shed her coat to keep from suddenly burning up.

"Can I help you?"

She turned around, realising how lost she must have seemed. She gave a strained smile to a lady behind the desk and said awkwardly,

"I… I hope so." She froze. What was she supposed to say? What explanation could she possibly give? She closed her eyes briefly and took in a deep breath. What explanation could there be? She couldn't very well say that she hadn't existed for the last three years. "I haven't used my account for a long time," she said, her eyes drawn anxiously to the date and time clock on the wall. _22__nd__ January 1986,_ the date read, while the clock merely said it was 9:06 as usual. "I've been out of the country. I was wondering if it was possible to access my funds."

"Right," the woman tapped on a rather rudimentary computer to access the brand new customer database that they'd been given just a few weeks before, "did you close your accounts before you left the country?"

"No," said Alex. She hesitated "I mean, I… I don't think so…" she bit her lip nervously. "I'm not sure..." she realised that the woman was regarding when with suspicion. She knew that she must have looked a sorry sight, coming in from the streets, frozen, bedraggled, in dire need of sleep and sustenance –

"Name?"

She glanced back.

"Pardon?" she whispered, shocked by how quiet and passive her own voice sounded.

"What's your name, madam?" the woman asked.

"Alex Drake," Alex told her, "_Alexandra,_ I suppose. Alexandra Drake."

The woman tapped awkwardly on the keyboard she was struggling to get used to then looked up. "I can't seem to find any records in your name," she said, "are you sure you didn't close your account?"

Alex gave a feeble smile.

"I… perhaps I did," she said quietly.

"Do you have any form of ID?" the woman asked and without thinking Alex handed over her arrest warrant. The woman seemed a little happier now. "Sorry, Detective Inspector," she said, "I-I didn't realise…" she felt a little anxious. Perhaps this customer had been undercover. No wonder she didn't have a bank account. She got to her feet. "Let me just go and check this for you."

"Thank you," Alex smiled with pure relief. Now she was finally getting somewhere. There had to be a trace left of her account. Even if it was now closed perhaps they could find out where the money had gone or even just re-open the account to help her to prove her identity to get another job. Not that she even knew where to start looking, considering she was of no fixed abode and had not a thing to her name.

Goodness, she was taking an awfully long time, wasn't she? Alex stared at the clock, watching the second hand judder while never going anywhere. She stared out of the window. She tapped against her leg. She held her bundled up coat against her middle to drown out the hungry growls. She closed her eyes and felt herself swaying as she struggled to say awake. Her head snapped back up before she plummeted from her comfy chair and she glanced around, embarrassed, to make sure no one had seen her. _Phew_. Just about got away with that.

It felt like an eternity before the woman returned . She didn't seem to have Alex's ID any more. She sat down looking perturbed and wouldn't quite meet Alex's eye.

"Is everything alright?" Alex asked.

the woman bit her lip a little nervously.

"My… colleagues are trying to sort this out for you now," she said "Ms Drake… where did you get the ID?"

Alex froze and her eyes fixed themselves upon the woman.

"It's mine," she said quietly,

"Right, yes," the woman looked tetchy, "well, the thing is… it's not yours. Is it?

Alex felt her heart speed up and a wave of dizziness overcame her. Was it through lack of sleep or food? She didn't think so. It was from the fear. The fear that her 'death' was about to come back to haunt her.

"That's _my_ ID," she said quickly, "there's been a mistake, someone said –"

"This ID belongs to a detective inspector who died three years ago," the woman told her, "You shouldn't have –" she stopped as she watched Alex scramble to her feet, "madam, I've been told to ask you to wait while we – _madam!"_

As weak and unsteady as she felt, Alex stumbled at speed from the bank onto the street where she heard sirens coming toward her. Surely they weren't looking for _her?_ It wasn't a matter of _that_ much importance was it? Even if the world thought she had passed away just being in possession of her ID wasn't that severe a crime. True she knew that impersonating a police officer was a fairly serious offence but when she already _was_ a police officer, now severe could that be?

Although… she couldn't prove that.

She had no ID. She had no home, She had nothing, there was nothing to say who she was, where she'd come from or what she did.

She had nothing, no one and now she was possibly on the run. All she had was fear. Fear for herself her future, her terrible situation. Fear, and loss, and hunger, thirst, exhaustion, desperation…Her head spun and her legs gave way beneath her as she found herself succumbing to fatigue and the lack of food and water which were all eating away at her. Her body collapsed in a heap, her coat fell from her grasp and shocked onlookers gasped and tutted and '_well I never'_ed at her but with her head going round in circles, her vision black and her hearing tinny she couldn't even see or hear them. She didn't give a fuck. It was over, _everything_ was over, Everything she cared about - gone. Home, Molly, her life, Gene, her job, her friends - there was nothing for her here and no way of ever getting home. She had nothing; _literally_ nothing but the clothes draped around her body and the tears that fell indiscriminately down her cheeks. She lay there choking out angry tears, unable to move or even to care. It was over. _Everything_ was over.

She slid quickly into an exhausted, irresistible sleep and complete darkness enveloped her.

When she awoke she was laying on a table in a darkened room. The lights on the ceiling above her swirled into focus and she realised where she was. She knew it well; the medical room at Fenchurch East. The room where –

"_Where the suspects go,"_ she whispered. Anyone in need of medical assessment or treatment before questioning would find themselves tucked away there. So what did that mean for her?

She soon found her answer. The sound of metal clanking as she moved her wrists made her gasp and she looked down to see her hands cuffed together. A wave of panic rose inside her and her hear began to beat at double-time. She was a criminal, a damned lowlife criminal. She'd stolen her own identity and as far as anyone knew she was probably some crook trying to get hold of DI Drake's accounts. And there was no one to save her. No one to vouch for her. No one who knew her because they had all seemingly moved on. So with no-one there to clear her name and no way to prove who she was how was she ever going to escape the never-ending nightmare that she'd entered the moment she took that leap of faith and jumped out of the window? The world had moved on. It had moved on without her and so had Gene. She was alone in the world. She might as well have died all over again.

She jumped as the door opened and she watched a figure step in from the shadows. His flowing coat gave him a mien of power and strength; smoke hung around him like a mist and from the darkness his features illuminated as he stepped into the light. The glint from his glasses made her blink and turn her head for a split second before it passed and he stood right before her; a look of sadness and sympathy upon his face. Was it genuine? She just didn't know. She felt like she didn't know _anything_ anymore.

"What have they done to you, Alex?" his voice was gentle; comforting, full of empathy. Was this _real?_ How could she tell? She'd had a hard job of identifying the truth so far. He knelt down beside her and looked her in the eye. "I tried to warn you, Alex. Didn't I _tell_ you things had changed? That Hunt had left you high and dry? He didn't just abandon you in the pub, in his so-called heaven – he's left you here with nothing and no one. He knew you would cling to his shirt tails… he probably knew you were going to come back, but he's abandoned you here anyway." He looked deeply into her eyes, watching her shake through the nerves and exhaustion. "Look what he's done to you."

"It's not his fault," she whispered.

"Where have you been all night, hmm? Walking the streets?" he could pretty much see that from the state of her. There was a jug and some paper cups across the room so he walked slowly towards it with deliberate, methodical footsteps. "Are you thirsty?"

"Yes," Alex tried not to sound too eager, "Yes, I-I am, a little, "she whispered.

Keats couldn't have poured the water any slower if he'd tried. She could swear that he bent the laws of physics to slow down the liquid's journey from the spout to the cup. He sat the jug down, taking an incredible amount of time to make sure that it was at the correct angle compared to the cups and other implements then took the most leisurely, sluggish walk of his life back to Alex on the table. Very slowly he extended his arm. She hesitated before she took the cup. She didn't want him to see how desperate her thirst had grown. She didn't want him to see her weaknesses, nor think that he could win her over with a cup of water in fear of him withholding the next. She drew it slowly to her lips but the second she felt the cooling liquid coat her tongue and swallowed it down she couldn't stop and finished the whole cup in seconds.

Was that a smirk? She couldn't quite tell as he took the cup from her and watched her catch her breath from her swift gulps. She ran her tongue around her lips, catching the rogue droplets that had escaped, eyeing the empty cup and silently begging for him to refill it.

"Was that enough?" he asked.

Alex hesitated. What was the right answer here?"

"I could drink some more," she said quietly.

"Maybe in a minute, hmm?" Keats said amiably, setting the cup on the desk behind hm. He turned back to Alex. "Your lips look sore," he reached out with one finger as though he was about to touch them but she drew back a shade. He seemed a little angry with her reaction. "You just won't let me help you, _will_ you Alex?" he said, a hint of resentment creeping into his voice, "I tried to help you from the minute I arrived. I warned you about Hunt, you didn't listen. I led you to the truth and you still stuck by his side. I gave you the option to go _home!_ To your little _girl!_ And you trusted the word of a man who sent you away without second thought over mine. Who's really at fault here, Hmm? Is it Gene for misleading you for all this time? Is it mine for taking drastic steps to show you the truth? Or is it yours?" he looked so deeply into her eyes that he almost reached right inside her mind and spoke deeply into her consciousness that he could have almost stepped into her head, "for ignoring all the signs, and letting your short-term hormonal urges get the better of you? because that's all that it was, you do realise that? Stupid, hormonal, school-girl lust."

"I'm not a bloody schoolgirl!" Alex cried but after all she had been through, with her body weak and her voice rasping from the dryness of her throat, her words held little strength or power.

"He was motivated by a drive to bury his head between your bosoms and you wanted your bit of rough."

Alex began to feel her anger rising.

"You have no idea-"

"Don't I?" he took off his glasses and set them to one side so that he could stare at her with no barrier between them, "how long have I been observing you at work now, hmm? How many weeks have I seen the two of you together? I've seen the way he looks at you. Did he ever manage to look you in the eye? Or was it always down here?" his eyes skied to her chest to prove a point but before she could react with anger he looked her in the eye again. "I can see more than that in you, Alex. You're not just a nice bit of posh skirt, glamming up the place. You're a strong, confident, _intelligent_ woman. You deserve to do your job on your own merits, not on how many of the station's senior officers want something pretty to look at." He reached forward and as he touched her chapped cheek gently she didn't move away, flinching only for a moment. "I can give you that, Alex," he breathed, "I can give you everything that you want."

"You can't –" Alex began to argue.

"A whole new life," he told her, "a job. A department where _you're_ in control. No one storming in, ham-fisted, bringing charges of police brutality to sully your good name. All Hunt ever wanted was what was in your bodice. I want what's in _here_," he reached up and placed his fingers to the sides of her head, staring intently into her eyes in a way that sent a strange chill through her spine. "Just say the word and I'll help you," his words were breathy and passionate, "Just ask and these charges will be gone from your record. You'll be back on your feet; new home, healthy bank balance, name on your office door –" he heard her stomach groaning, "- and a full stomach, all by noon. But you _have_ to trust me. After everything you've seen, _who_ is the one who told you the truth?" he saw her eyes dart a little with nerves, "who told you that Hunt wasn't to be trusted? Who led you to the facts about this world? Who told you that things had moved on without you?" her mouth hung open a little, an answer on the tip of her tongue. The handcuffs rubbed her wrists, her stomach ached with hunger, her tongue yearned for another cooling cup of water, and in his eyes she saw all of that. All of that and more. A way out. The end to this nightmare. She couldn't go to prison, she just _couldn't -_ she'd lost her daughter, she'd lost the man she loved, she wasn't going to lose her freedom too.

"_Yes,"_ she whispered before she could stop herself.

The glint that arrived in his eyes was immediate.

"What was that, Alex?"

"_I said yes,"_ she swallowed as she trembled and tried to fight the strange nausea that built inside of her as she told him, "I'll do it. I'll work for you. I'll do what you ask me to." She was shaking again as she whispered, "I don't' want to feel this way any more,"

A smile washed over Keats's face, bringing his expression to life. He cast his eyes fondly to her face and ran his fingers down her cheek.

"Well done," he told her, "You've made a very wise decision."

The moment that passed between them as he looked into her eyes took whatever was left of her self respect and replaced it with a haze; a mist that came down over her waking thoughts, almost as though she'd been hypnotised. She felt numb again, but this time emotionally so. He'd taken something from deep inside of her He'd stolen her life. He'd stolen her drive. Everything that made Alex so alive and so full of passion faded away with the promise he made as he told her,

"I'll get these charges dropped immediately, and then we're going for a very long lunch to celebrate." He got to his feet and strode to the door. There was no hesitation now; no long, slow walk as there had been to the water jug. He turned around and threw one last smile in her direction. "Welcome to your future, Alex," he told her, then he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

One lone, cold tear ran down her stony face. She couldn't feel it enough to wipe it away. She felt cold and hard; drained of all hope and all emotion. He had stolen from her the last asset she had left – her desire to keep fighting, and in that moment she knew that he'd won. It was time to raise the white flag. She surrendered.

~xXx~

The fire in his eyes and the evil gloat across his face were the outward signs of the expectation he felt inside. He had waited for this for such a long time. All those days and nights he'd read about Alex in her files while she lay comatose in hospital, all those times he'd tried to lure her to his side, all the steps he'd gone through to show her the truth about Gene and now, finally, she had seen the light.

Well, the_ darkness_.

A strong feeling of heat built up inside of him as he thought about it. His. She was _his_ now. He had finally won. He would get to achieve everything that Hunt had failed to accomplish.

The smile that grew across his face could be seen for miles around; it could almost be seen from space along with the Great Wall of China and Evan's beard. He had it all now, because he had Alex. That was all he wanted. It was all he ever wanted.

"You're mine now, Alex Drake," he whispered. His future grew brighter as hers grew evermore bleak.

Her soul began to burn.

All that awaited her now was darkness.

"_Welcome to hell Alex. Welcome to hell."_

**The End**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: This was supposed to be a oneshot, even though when I wrote it I could see in my head how it would have gone if I were to continue it. I was just going to leave it as a oneshot for the reason that I thought it was too dark. But for some reason a combination of the pain and medication has brought me back to this story. Maybe it'll be a way to channel the pain into something constructive. I'm still in two minds about writing this but Rant is threatening to dissect medical instruments if I didn't write chapter two so here it is. The rating will change at M at some point and it's going to be very dark throughout.**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 2**

Alex stared at the clock in the basement as the hands seemed to stall and stumble. It was still 9:06 just as it had been forever and a day. She was almost glad in a way because at least then she couldn't clock-watch. She knew the clock would betray her and time would move too slowly if she'd had the chance. It could never move fast enough as far as she was concerned.

It was another long, lonely day. The latest in a long line of long, lonely days. There were no other kind. Not for Alex. Not any more.

She thought she heard a footstep on the stairs and jumped to attention but whatever the sound had been, no more followed. Either it was a figment of her imagination or whoever it was had changed their mind. And she couldn't blame them. Why would _anyone_ go down there voluntarily? Even Keats rarely made an appearance any more.

How many weeks had it been now? Three? Four? It felt like a lot longer but she was trying to give a conservative estimate. She wondered why calendars didn't stay on the same page forever. If clocks never changed once you'd passed away then why didn't calendars do the same? Because she knew the month had gone by; the picture on the calendar on the wall had changed at some point from one of a hole punch to one of a sexy selection of neatly-arranged biros. But that was as much as she knew about the passing of time.

In actual fact it had been a day shy of three weeks since _the day_. The day her life fell apart. The day that Gene packed her off to the pub and banished her with one word; _'Go'._

And she had. She'd gone. She'd gone and she'd regretted it. The one time she'd listened to him, and the one time she should have fought her corner. Once inside those four walls she knew she'd made a mistake and the appearance of stars on the wall confirmed it to her. She took the only exit she could; _out of the window_. But although physically she had landed on her feet, in a different sense she couldn't have fallen any harder.

She wondered what would have happened if she'd chosen another window. Maybe if she'd gone to the cubicle beside it she would have landed in a different place, with no sign of _him_ there; delaying her, stalling her, taking away her chance to be happy.

_He didn't know what he was doing,_ she told herself again and again, _he didn't stall me on purpose._

Even she didn't really believe that. But it hurt less to think of it that way.

She stared at the pens lined up along her desk and licked her dry lips as she longed for him to arrive soon with a glass of water for her, or maybe even allow her to visit the canteen. He _had_ promised. But then she knew she hadn't done well at their meeting that morning. She'd just been so hungry, and she thought it would have been rude _not_ to take the hors d' oeuvres from the Super when he offered her the platter. And she never would have started a conversation with the Super if she'd known she wasn't supposed to speak to him unsupervised. _Mingle_, he'd told her. _Look pretty_, he'd said. It was a little hard to do that when she could barely straighten up from the pain in her back where she'd spent the last three nights sleeping on the floor.

She pressed one hand to the side of her throbbing head and leaned against her elbow on the desk. Surely this wasn't right. One minute she'd been in whatever passed for heaven, then the next everything was turned on its head. How could jumping from the window lead to hell? She supposed that was why people signalled downward when they thought about the fiery place. But it still made little sense.

She wondered if there was some parallel universe out there where there was another _her_ who was doing it right; who'd jumped from another window, outrun the threat of Keats, made it into the station in time to find Gene with his new recruit and salvage something from her life. Perhaps there was a parallel universe out there in which they'd actually made it, they'd gotten over all those months – years even – of playing around and actually decided to give it a go. There'd been that kiss, after all. That wasn't a kiss between friends. That was a gesture of something _far_ deeper. And even though it had been a goodbye kiss she couldn't shake the feeling that there could have been so many more where that came from.

If only she had landed differently.

Her eyes skipped to the clock again. 9:06 once more. She exhaled and listened to her stomach growling loudly. Maybe there would be food on the way? Perhaps hem would bring her something like he used to. Like he had at first. The little visits down in the basement, the smiles the little touches to her hand and her arm, bringing her drinks and snacks, checking to see how she was getting on. There had been a time at first where she'd genuinely thought that perhaps she was wrong about him when she'd come to doubt him outside the pub. Perhaps she'd trusted the wrong man after all.

"_I told you I'd take care of you, Alex,"_ He would tell her as he smiled at her, peering over the top of his glasses, _"I told you I'd look after you. Hunt was stupid to let you go."_

She had started to look forward to those visits, the two or three times he'd appear in the course of the afternoon; a coffee, a couple of biscuits, a nice cool glass of water to counteract the stuffy air. _Broken air conditioning,_ he'd told her.

After the first week the visits to her desk slowly faded away. She'd barely noticed the first day. He was busy, so he said. Important meetings, Going to court, department appraisals.

"_You understand, don't you, Alex?"_ he'd told her as he finally put in an appearance with a steaming mug of coffee_, "besides, you don't need me. You've got everything covered down here."_

That might have been true but what she _didn't_ have was any company. Nor any food or drink, and the last time she'd come up for air in the course of the day his reaction had been so angry that she'd been afraid to leave the basement without his permission again.

She needed to remain on his good side, she knew that much. She had no one else to turn to. And he had been taking care of her. He'd put clothes on her back, food in her belly, even given her a bed to sleep in. For the most part, anyway. It wasn't _his_ fault he hadn't had time to restock the cupboards yet. Or that the bed had become damaged. And the blankets were warm enough, she supposed. And the floor wasn't _that_ hard once you were used to it. Not once you were tired enough and could pass out on it, anyway.

This time there were _definitely_ footsteps. She knew it. She could hear them approaching fast. She sat up straight, smoothed back her hair and jiggled her chest a little to settle her cleavage into the right place. She knew he liked to see a little. _Making the best of herself_, that's all it was. At first she'd thought it was sexual harassment but he'd explained it to her, time and again, and eventually she could see it his way.

"_Yes, it's a sexist system, Alex. So play the system. Give these big boys on their perches something pretty to look at and they'll be too busy looking at you to look at anything else. To look at the figures, To look at the possibility of redundancies. You wouldn't want to see any of your fellow officers out on the streets would you, Alex? Or yourself. You know how hard that can be, don't you?"_

And she did. She _did_ know, She'd had a very practical demonstration when she found herself with no ID, no money, no home and no possessions. She was 'dead'. The paperwork said so. _Killed in a heist gone wrong,_ along with everyone else who'd slipped through the doors of the Railway Arms that same night. Of course, it had to be covered up somehow. She could see that. She understood why it had happened but now she found herself with no identity of her own and nowhere to go.

Except to the basement

"_You need me, Alex,"_ he reminded her time and again, "_remember, this is the only job you're going to find."_

She'd already been arrested for using a 'fake ID' – her _own_ ID – and imitating a police officer – herself. _Alex Drake_ was dead. Just having her arrest warrant meant nothing. She had no way to prove who she was and if she tried to run, to begin again somewhere else, she could end up straight back in the cells and next time _he_ might not be there to bail her out.

_I do owe him,_ she told herself as she watched his feet trotting down the stairs. And it was _that_ thought and that thought alone which allowed her to force a smile.

"_Jim,"_ she said, trying to keep her voice bright. She didn't want to sound depressed. _God_, he hated it when she was low. _Sulking_, he called it. _Sulking like a child waiting for an ice cream on a rainy day._ That was what he'd said the day she dared to ask him where her coffee was. She never made that mistake again.

She looked at him eagerly as he fully arrived at the door. What did he have for her? Some water? A snack perhaps?

"Paperwork," he said, slamming a large pile of the stuff on her desk.

Alex's eyes focused on it. The stack was bigger than all of the papers she already had there, which were building up quite steadily.

"I… still have a lot of work to do," she said, half angrily and half apologetically.

Unfortunately he sensed the anger in her voice.

"Maybe this morning was too much of a distraction then," he said, "Perhaps we should cross the functions off your calendar in future. What do you think?"

Alex's spirits sank as a lump formed in her throat.

"No," she said quietly, "no, that's OK. I'll get it finished," she swallowed and sighed, "It's just… it's very difficult to work when I've got a headache."

"Hangover," he told her, "That'll be the champagne."

She _had_ consumed one glass of the bubbly stuff; at the function that morning. But Keats's watchful eye had kept a cap on how much she'd been allowed and it hadn't even been a full glass. He'd whisked it out of her grasp at some point to prod her into shaking hands with some sweaty-palmed tosspot with a comb-over and the inability to look beyond her chest.

"I don't think it's a hangover," she said weakly, "I think it's because I'm a little dehydrated," she pulled her top away from her skin as she said quietly, "it's very hot down here."

"You must remember to drink more water tonight," Keats told her, "when we get home. That'll help fill you up as well."

"Why… what are we having for dinner?" she asked.

"Something healthy for you," Keats told her charmingly, "Got you in a fresh salad. Keep you trim. Got an important budget meeting coming up next week. We want you looking your best."

"I think I could do with something more substantial than a lettuce," Alex said, a little sarcastically, "I think my blood sugar is too low." She looked at him hopefully, "I'm a bit lightheaded."

"Oh, _are_ you?" Keats flashed her a charming smile, "in that case, you'd better stay sitting at your desk," he said, "don't want the world to start spinning around, do you?" he turned to walk away, "after all, the world doesn't revolve around you, Alex." His voice began to fade away as he moved back up the stairs, "_The world doesn't revolve around you."_

She he'd her breath as she watched him disappear. That was a habit now. She'd started doing it to stop herself from blurting out something that she would regret. Now she found herself doing it all the time, holding her breath until her lungs couldn't take it anymore and it escaped from her body in a rush. It was one of the ways in which she found herself trying to keep control. He could control almost everything else about her; _what she wore, what she ate, what she had to drink,_ but breathing was the one thing even he couldn't control.

Not unless she found a pillow over her face in the middle of the night.

She turned cold as the thought passed through her mind, but even so there was a hint of blessed relief in the idea. At least death would take her away from the situation. What the _hell_ had happened to her anyway? She was tougher than this. She was strong. She didn't take shit from anyone, no matter who they were. Alex Drake was _not_ a weak soul.

But then again, someone else was in possession of her soul now.

As she bowed her head and flinched at the feeling of another wave of hunger she reached for the top file from the papers he'd thrown on her desk and flipped it open. She knew she wasn't going to take in any of the words. She'd skim it and they would make no sense to her, just like usual.

The words swam around on the page like the useless numbers on the clock and the words of torment in her head. She didn't know how she was going to take another day of this. But she knew she didn't have a choice.

She was trapped like a rat, while the _real_ rat was out on the loose.

As she scanned the page for the third time, hoping she had enough mental capacity left to take in just a few of the words, she longed more than anything to turn back the clock; to stay inside the pub and wait patiently for the day that Gene joined her.

But there was no turning back the clock. Nor turning it forward. As 9:06 stared back at her yet again all she could see was a never-ending expanse of darkness; the light extinguished and the night forever fallen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**3 weeks earlier (give or take)**

The relief as the cuffs came off her wrists was incredible. Alex knew what it was like to be a suspect now. It wasn't a side of the line that she wanted to be on again. She stood there quietly as she watched Keats signing the documents that secured her release in exchange for agreeing to work for him. This was the literal equivalent of selling her soul to the devil. It was, wasn't it? She'd seen a side of Keats that she didn't like at Farringfield Green and she knew that he'd played her for a fool. He had used her to get what he wanted. Had he always known that was Gene out in the field? If so then why had he needed _her_ to be the one to uncover the body?

She'd really trusted him. She'd even started to trust him over _Gene_ - how could she have done such a thing? And yet there was evidence on both sides. Gene had packed up and left – why had he done that? Where had he gone? If he didn't want to be at Fenchurch East any more then why hadn't he just gone to the bloody pub?

She thought about Keats and the scarf. _Molly's_ scarf. There was no way to know if that was real or not. She had trusted Gene but what if she'd been wrong? What if she really _could_ have gone home if she'd trusted Keats? Did she let the feelings she had for Gene cloud the truth about him?

She felt a little uncomfortable as she watched Keats glance up and give her a smile. She'd started to develop feelings for him too. She couldn't even admit that to herself, on some level she had always known she would be betraying Gene, but Keats had a silver tongue and had managed to talk his way inside her mind. She didn't want to but sometimes she found herself thinking about him. She wasn't sure when it started but it was happening with increasing frequency, or at least it _had_ been. Now she'd seen that dark side. She didn't know where she stood any more and she'd never been more confused.

She gave him the weakest of smiles in return as he turned his attention back to the paperwork and signed the final part.

"Done," he said to a uniformed officer beside him.

"She's all yours," the officer told him.

Those words brought a wide smile to his face as he stood upright and tucked his pen away in his pocket.

"Yes," he smiled, "she is, isn't she?" he extended his hand to her. "Think I promised you a bit of lunch, Alex. Didn't I?" he nodded towards the door in a slightly patronising motion. Somehow Alex didn't even notice. All she could think about was the promise of food, and presumably something to drink. _Water. No, alcohol. No, maybe water…_ Her thirst was raging, but alcohol… alcohol would make her feel so much better after all she'd been through…. Maybe water first, _then_ alcohol…

"_Alex."_ His tone was sharper this time. She felt a little like a guilty child being reprimanded for zoning out in class and tried to make it up to him with a forced smile. She reached out with a shaking hand which he took in his and led her from the station.

She glanced behind her as he took her across the car park. Somehow she just knew that she was leaving Fenchurch East for the very last time.

~xXx~

Alex watched the water tipping from the chilled bottle into her glass and wished that she could bend the laws of physics just enough to make the water empty faster. It was all she had thought about from the moment she sat down in Keats's car; that long, cool glass of water. It was funny but so often she'd be so busy with work that she might not eat or drink all day and never even notice, but take away the opportunity to just go and grab some food and water when she wanted to and that was suddenly all that she could think about.

After what felt like eons the glass was full and she reached out eagerly to take it until Keats placed his hand over hers to stop her.

"Let's wait for the wine, eh?" he smiled, "make a proper toast."

Alex hoped that her forced smile didn't look as nervous as she thought it probably did.

"I was only sipping some water," she said.

"Let's do it properly, hmm?" Keats peered at her from over his glasses.

Alex opened her mouth to protest that she was thirsty but something stopped her. She didn't want Keats to know that. She didn't want him to see any sign of weakness at all. She was feeling wary and didn't want to give him anything he might be able to use to wield power over her. She had to play things as coolly as possible.

With her heart sinking and her thirst raging she withdrew her hand slowly and forced another smile. How often was she going to have to do that? She lifted her menu and pretended to be very busy reading it for a few moments so that she didn't have to speak. She couldn't make conversation. Her tongue was like a strip of sandpaper. The last thing that she wanted to do was to try to construct a sentence.

"We'll have to take you shopping."

"What?"

His comment had taken her so much by surprise that she managed one word at least.

"Shopping," Keats repeated, "you can't carry on wearing the same clothes for the next fifty years, can you?" Something about the idea of spending the next fifty years with Keats chilled Alex to the core. Maybe it was a good thing she hadn't eaten for a couple of days because she couldn't have guaranteed not to throw up. "Look at the state of you. If you're going to be at your new desk before the end of the day you'll need to get out of that thing for a start. You're covered in mud." He looked her in the eye. "That's what happens when you crawl around, digging up dead coppers, Alex."

Alex felt the acid in her stomach churning as she looked away and said coldly,

"Please don't refer to Gene that way."

"In what way?" Keats held up his palms in a gesture of false innocence, "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. You had to know the truth."

"And you couldn't have _told_ me?" Alex hissed across the table, "If you knew about Gene then why didn't you say it instead of making me drive out two hundred miles to dig up his bones?" She swallowed hard. There were tears approaching_. Dear god, please don't let me cry._ She knew that if Keats saw the tears then he'd have more ammunition so she swallowed and took a deep breath to keep them at bay.

"I did it for your own good, Alex," Keats leaned across the table. He didn't have his glasses on any more. When had he taken those off? Suddenly there was no filter to his eyes and he fixed her in a stare that seemed to go beyond the connection between two sets of eyes. It was something far deeper. He wasn't looking into her eyes, He was looking into her mind. She felt strange and shaky as he trapped her I that stare. "If I'd told you, you never would have believed me. I needed you to see it for yourself."

"It was cruel, Jim," she whispered, her voice trembling far more than she would have liked, "whatever you may think of Gene we were a team, and we were strong."

"Can't have been that strong, eh?" Keats pointed out, "if you believed the word of a stranger over his?" he drew away and leaned back in his chair. "Anyway, Alex, that doesn't matter now. What matters is that you've got a fresh start ahead." The waiter returned with a bottle of wine and Alex sat up a little straighter. It wasn't the cooling water that she longed for but it was liquid and the thought of it splashing over her tongue and sliding down her throat drove her crazy with anticipation.

_Glug, glug, glug_…. was wine _supposed_ to take this long to get from the bottle to the glass? It felt like it took an eternity but finally she held in her hand a glass of the rich, red liquid. She licked her dry lips and almost inhaled the drink but before she could bring it to her lips she found Keats's held in front of her.

"A toast," he said.

Alex tried to give him a smile but it was faltering from the word go. _Just a few more seconds_, she told herself, _a few more seconds and the liquid will be all yours_. Slowly she reached out her hand and held her glass out next to his but lacking nourishment and sleep her hand shook so much that she feared she was about to spill wine all over the table cloth. She knew he'd seen it too.

"What are we drinking to?" she asked weakly, doing her best to humour him, "the future?"

Keats smiled at her. There was a spiteful glint in his eye.

"_To the past,"_ he said.

Those words stung Alex like nothing on earth. So cutting. So spiteful. _The past;_ exactly where she was trapped. But once again, she refused to let him see. This time as she gave a smile it was genuine because she wasn't thinking about his words; she was thinking about that glorious glass of wine and how good it was going to feel against her arid tongue.

_To alcohol_, she thought to herself as she clinked her glass to his with great reluctance and then drew it towards her.

One second of hesitation.

One second where she contemplated the pleasure ahead.

She closed her eyes and pressed the glass to her lips, then tipped it slowly to allow the glorious wine to flow straight into her mouth; savouring the sensation as it moistened her parched tongue, revived the desecrated wasteland of her mouth, made her lips tingle and her heart race as she appreciated every last gulp like never before.

The second she realised she had finished the whole glass she knew she'd done a bad thing. The look on Keats's face told her so. The almost instant spinning of her head merely backed up this fact. In her half-starved and exhausted state the alcohol took hold very quickly and she took a few deep breaths to fight the hurried sensation of drunkenness.

"Everything alright, Alex?" he asked her as she tried to keep control of herself.

"Yes, fine," she whispered. The alcohol in her empty stomach burned like fire and her mouth was as dry as ever before. Worse now, in fact. _Fuck, stupid alcohol_. What had she thought she was _doing_? She reached for her water and downed half, not even caring what Keats thought this time. It felt good; better than anything she'd ever felt before. With a tiny gasp for breath, she sat the glass back down and glanced back at Keats. She couldn't read his expression. She risked a tiny smile and tried to block out the gnawing anxiety that built inside of her.

"Let's order," she whispered, trying not to slur. She felt like a teenager sneaking a drink of vodka from the family drinks cabinet. She needed some food to mop up the alcohol. And besides, it gave her an excuse to hide behind her menu again.

Was that to be her life now? Hiding behind menus, or perhaps paperwork, or newspapers or books? But the alternative was rotting in a cell and of the two she knew that she prided her freedom more.

That was all she had to keep telling herself. _You have your freedom Alex. Concentrate on that. That's more than you'd have the other side of the bars._

Keats glowered at her as though he could read her mind. He smiled as he lifted his glass and silently toasted himself. Alex couldn't have been more wrong. Freedom was the one thing she didn't have.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Sorry updates on this fic are sporadic; basically I seem to only be able to write this one when I'm in pain and highly medicated! But in a way that means sporadic updates are a good thing!? Anyway, we have also just moved so I am trying to get back into the swing of things. My next priority is to update my main fic, 'Things Can Only Get Better'! Thank you for reading, please let me know if you enjoy this chapter x**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 3**

How had it come to this?

That was all that Alex could ask herself time and again as she stood like a fool in the middle of the shop while Keats treated her like some sort of personal dress-up doll.

"You'll soon see the difference, Alex," he told her with a smile. Or was it a smirk? There was a very fine line between the two and Keats had an extraordinary ability to flit back and forth between the two with ease like someone pressing a button to change the channel on the TV. In fact, he walked a very fine line between being charming or cruel and Alex was having difficulty decoding which side of the line his intentions truly lay. He'd always been on that border but she had always trusted him. Always given him the benefit of the doubt. He had always seemed to have her best interests at heart after all. And once again, here he was; coming to her rescue when she had no one to turn to.

And so far he had been true to his word. He had done everything he'd promised. He'd got the charges against her dropped, he'd taken her for a slap-up lunch and now he was preparing to take her to her new job, whatever and wherever that was. The new clothes he'd promised came as part of that deal.

"There," he said as he pulled out her arms, leaving her looking as stiff and awkward as the scarecrow that had stood guard over Gene's body for all of those years, "I think you will find this… somewhat more professional than your usual wardrobe."

Alex bristled as he slipped a smart navy jacket over her arms and turned her to see herself on the mirror.

"I look like Margaret Thatcher," she said crossly but soon regretted her tone as Keats's angry stare turned to her, searing her soul with a furious glare.

"That's gratitude," he snapped, "I'm funding a whole new wardrobe for you to help you reach your potential. I'm not doing this because I've got money to burn, Alex. I'm doing this because if our arrangement is going to work…" Alex shuddered at that line, not quite certain yet what her side of the 'arrangement' was supposed to be, "…then you'll have to learn that I know what's best for you."

Alex bit her lip to stop herself from asking if he thought he was her mother or something. One thing she was learning fast was that the moment he'd signed away and released her from custody he'd also apparently signed his name on the Alex Drake adoption papers because suddenly he needed to be in control of everything - where she went, what she wore, even what she had to eat and drink.

She couldn't deny the slap-up lunch had been delicious but it had come at a price, and she wasn't talking about the hefty cheque he handed over at the end of the meal. He had taken great delight in completely ignoring her questions to the waiter about the specials and instead ordered for her the largest, most expensive dish on the menu. Then he had spent their entire wait for food telling her how much she was going to have to owe him for the pleasure. He spelt out repeatedly what else he could have used the money for and reminded her of her own lack of finances, how she would have to rely on him whole-heartedly until her first month's wages came in. As she sat there feeling her stomach growling and picking mud from the clothes she was stuck wearing she realised that it was far more than her food and clothes he had the monopoly over. It was her freedom was well.

For that matter she might just as well have gone to prison after all.

She stood there and let him fuss around her, straightening the jacket and holding out blouses as though he was auditioning for some twentieth century makeover programme. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her cool. She was starting to become angry with his behaviour now.

He'd been almost unbearable when the food had arrived. After spending the wait describing how much he was spending on the feast he then spent the meal describing to her how calorie-laden every mouthful was. If she was honest she had mostly zoned it out, so hungry she was from not eating in a good couple of days that all she could think about was getting the food from the plate to her mouth but as soon as he realised how little it was bothering her he started making threats about taking the rest of the food away before she piled on the pounds which merely made her gobble up the rest of her lunch as fast as possible, leaving her with atrocious case of indigestion.

She stifled a burp as he swapped the light blue blouse in his hand for a grey one.

"Much better Alex," he smiled, "_now _you look the part. You actually look like a detective inspector instead of someone auditioning for _Minipops_."

It seemed that Keats was frustrated by her lack of response to his jibes about her lunch and weight so he had swapped to ones about another aspect of her appearance instead; her fashion sense. She knew that she didn't dress as a detective inspector traditionally would. She never had. In the early days that was simply because she had to beg, steal or borrow clothing and had to make do with whatever she could get. Wearing the cast offs of murder victims had grown tired fast and she had started to invest in some clothes of her own, experimenting with her appearance. What was the point of being back in time if she couldn't experiment a little after all?

But it was true that her appearance wasn't traditional for her post. She let her mind wander back to the clothes she used to wear on the job back in her old life, in 2008. If she was honest part of the outfit Keats had picked out for her wasn't dissimilar to something she would have worn, albeit with bigger shoulder pads. She knew that in the clean and clinical world of 2008 that she had little choice but back in the 80s there was so much colour and excitement that to wear what appeared to be the PM's cast-offs made her feel drab and dreary.

"You'll soon see the difference," he told her, flicking a little imaginary lint from the sleeve of her jacket, "wait until you find how differently people treat you when you look the part. There will be no more talking to your chest; people will be talking right to your face, looking you in the eye and listening to every last word you say."

But even as he spoke Alex couldn't help but notice that his own eyes were firmly fixed on the location he had spoken out against. It made her shudder and she pulled her arms in to her chest, pulling the jacket closed around her. She was disturbed by his slightly mocking laugh and could do nothing but stars angrily as he took a step away and turned his back to her.

"Take it off. We'll buy this for now and you can pay me back when you get your first month's wages. Speaking of which, you won't be getting any pay at all unless you get to work."

Alex felt her insides turn cold as he spoke. She had someone managed to block that part out.

"You've mentioned this before, Jim, she said quietly, "but you haven't told me where I'm going to be working. She hesitated as she shrugged her arms out of the jacket. "not D and C?"

Keats merely laughed as he ran a hand through his dark locks.

"No, Alex, I have something far more stimulating in mind for you," Keats told her. For a horrible moment Alex thought that he had lined her up a career as an erotic masseuse or something along those lines but as he turned and took the garment from her hands he explained further. "Times have changed now. I've moved on. Got myself a new post. You see, Fenchurch West was looking for someone of my seniority. They needed a firm hand to run their CID. New broom and all that. The dead wood has gone and I've got empty desks that I need to fill. There's a space for a detectve inspector with your name right on the desk."

Alex felt a chill running through her body. Her blood ran a little cold.

"Fenchurch West?" she repeated. She'd never had the best of experiences with their rival station. Any time she had encountered them it seemed that the rot had taken hold and corruption was rife.

"Come on, Alex," Keats looked her in the eye, "don't try giving me a misplaced sense of loyalty to Fenchurch East. Look what they did to you. They wrote you off as dead, shovelled Gene out the door and slapped handcuffs on your wrists. Do you really owe them anything? Anything at all?"

The memory of the previous night and all that she had discovered as she returned made her stomach churn and for a moment she thought she was about to say goodbye to that rich, heavy lunch Keats had spent what he claimed was a small fortune on. But before she had a chance to dwell on it for too long one of Keats's comments played again through her head.

"_Gene," _she whispered.

Keats's expression darkened

"What about him?" he demanded.

"You told me… I thought he'd left of his own accord," she whispered, "now you say he was pushed out?"

"Left, pushed, what's the difference?" Keats watched her face start to grow angry and knew he had overstepped the mark. He took a deep breath and quickly tried to regroup. Despite the hold he exerted over her now that he was the only lifeline she had he didn't want to push her too far. He wanted her to stay subdued and under his thumb rather than fighting him all of the way. He placed his hand gently on her shoulder and looked her in the eye with all the sincerity he could muster. "Look, Alex, I understand. You and Hunt had something. I understand that. But he let you down, just as he was always _going _to because he's not good enough for you."

"Gene was -"

"You and Gene are in different _leagues_. And while you might have mistaken a… a close working relationship for some kind of… personal bond it's over now. You need to look to the future, not to the past."

Alex bit down hard on her lip as his words triggered tears unexpectedly.

"It's a little hard not to think about the past when you're trapped in it for an eternity," she whispered.

"Time for a new life, Alex," Keats told her, "today is just the first step. In time you'll forget him. You'll forget _all _of this, All you'll remember is how you make a big difference to Fenchurch with a team of officers and detectives that listen to your every word." he held his hand towards her, "Come on, DI Drake. This is just the first step. Big things are coming." He smiled. "I promise you."

Alex swallowed as she stared back at him., Deep down she knew those were all lies. She couldn't pretend she felt anything different. Although she was stuck with no alternative the fact that she had to trust Keats and follow his orders was killing her inside. But it was that or take to the streets and the mess from the night before proved that she couldn't cope with that.

She would have to go along with it. She would have to listen to Keats and follow his orders, just for now. But this was a temporary state of affairs. As lost and troubled as she was she knew inside that she wasn't going to live this way forever. For now she would do as he said, she would eat what he put on the table before her, wear the clothes that he picked out and sit at the desk on which he'd place her name. But as time went by she would build up her finances, her strength and her identity again until the day came to break free.

With hesitation she took his hand and allowed him to pull her towards the counter to pay. She wasn't giving in, she was just taking on a role, almost as though she was undercover. And as time went by she would rebuild her life. Alex Drake was too strong to bend to the will of another.

It was a shame that Keats didn't think the same way. He laughed internally as he placed the clothes onto the counter and flashed his cash. He'd seen it now, that defiant streak, the part of Alex that was refusing to give in. But just because he'd seen a glimpse of it didn't mean there were not ways to extinguish it The flame would soon falter and die as the embers of her soul burned out and cooled. That trace of Alex Drake that ran beneath her broken shell would fade away as quickly as the flurry of starlight across the sky.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

Jim Keats finally felt as though everything had come together for him.

And it had been a _long_ time coming.

There was no fighting the smugness in his smile as he arrived in the car park of Fenchurch West. Technically he'd been there weeks but in the way of the world a lot of time had passed in the blink of an eye so to him it had been far, _far_ less. He faced Alex, her eyes turned downward with a strange and distant look upon her face. It made her appear as though she was frozen; through cold or through fear? Well, his car was warm enough so Keats suspected the later. "

"This is it, Alex," he said, the unanticipated level of excitement in his voice a difficult thing to hold back, "your new place of work."

"I haven't had the best of experiences with officers from this station in the past," Alex said coolly, thoughts of Martin Summers passing through her thoughts momentarily.

"That was the Fenchurch West of old," Keats said, speaking with confidence, "they wanted a new broom and they _got_ a fucking broom. I've been sweeping clean from the moment they gave me the job."

"And," Alex's eyes finally flickered to him for a moment, "exactly _when_ did they give you the job?"

Keats gave a laugh to mask the fact that this was a question he didn't want to answer. Alex knew about the state of the world now. She understood that this was a life beyond life. A new life after death, not quite the afterlife but a stepping stone full of promise and hope along the way there. The last thing he wanted to do was to build on that knowledge. The less she knew now, the easier it would be for her to forget.

And she _would_ forget, he was sure, given enough time. That wasn't the usual experience for someone like Alex who had entered the word already knowing the truth; a copper who arrived only half dead would usually remember until the day they either passed on or went back. But _Alex_….

He couldn't take his eyes from her beautiful features, the same features he'd regarded jealously every damn day that he'd been working at Fenchurch East. _Bloody Gene Hunt_. that's where _her_ eyes had been focused. But Gene wasn't there any longer. Now she would only see him. She would see him, she would hear him, she would listen to every word that he said and she would be drawn closer and closer to him as the word engulfed her.

She was isolated now. He knew that he was her only lifeline and if he buried the subject of the world, the pub and the little fact that there was a daughter she had left behind in another world then soon her previous life would simply fade into the background, like a dream that she could barely remember.

"Jim?"

Alex's voice stopped his day dreaming for a moment. Hearing her say his name brought that smugness back to his features.

"Hmm?" He couldn't remember exactly what she'd asked him but knew there had been a question before held become lost in thought.

"When did you get the job?" she asked again, "what happened to D and C?"

Keats gave a slight laugh to mask the feeling of resentment and insecurity that threatened to creep into his demeanour. That was something nobody even realised about him. He did a very good job of covering that part of him up, but it was there nonetheless and if anyone had bothered to truly analyse his behaviour they would have seen it there too. The fact was, he was nothing but a paper-pusher and he knew it. Always _had_ been. He felt enormous resentment for that. _Policing the police_ – that was as far as he could go. That was as far as they would _let_ him go He was a DCI and yet he was never allowed to do the good stuff. He never had the strength and the power that he needed, that he felt he deserved. All of that changed when he stepped into Fenchurch East to check up on the DCI who seemed to have 'forgotten' and found himself enveloped by an energy that transformed him slowly.

"When did I get the _job?"_ he repeated. He gave the kind of laugh that made Alex feel as though she has asked the most stupid question in the world as he looked all around. "Alex, the world has changed. Time passed by. I was… _enamoured_ by my time at Fenchurch East. Liked the area. Felt like sticking around. The post came up and after the good work I did at your… _previous place of employment_… I was a shoe-in."

A _shoe-in_. A shoe in someone's _back_ as he took the post he so desperately desired. By fair means or foul? It was all the same to him. The line had become blurred. He wasn't going to go into the details. Alex was better off not knowing.

"I thought you enjoyed your work at D and C," Alex said. He stared at her, as sure as he could be that her questions were a little more than interest and curiosity. His expression changed as he told her firmly,

"Listen, DI Drake, my career isn't the focus of today. The focus is _yours_. You need to get yourself back on track. You have been out of the loop for a long time. _Three years_. It's only felt like a couple of days to you but the world hasn't stayed still while you were sobbing into a beer mat and taking a misguided leap of faith." He saw her head droop a little at his words and allowed himself to gloat momentarily. "You need to bring yourself up to speed on current standards and procedures."

"I'm sure I can adjust –" Alex began but Keats cut her off.

"I need to make sure that you're on top of your game," he said to her, "and in order for that to happen you need to familiarise yourself with the rules and regulations as they have changed."

"It's only been three years, Jim," Alex said a little tiredly. The whirlwind of the last two days had taken its toll and she was desperate to just sleep away the rest of the day. She noted with caution that his expression seemed to change and darken.

"Even so," he said stiffly, "the world has moved on without you. Look at how different things were at your previous station when you attempted to reintegrate. People come and go and rules change." His mouth twitched into a smile before he could stop it but he wrestled it under control before Alex saw, "It won't take long for you to get yourself reacquainted, Alex. Be patient. You may appreciate a little peace and quiet for your first couple of days while you acclimatise. He unfastened his seatbelt and gave her a sly smile. "There's an empty room in the basement that would be _perfect_ for you."

Somehow Alex felt sure her heart had never sunk so fast before in all of her life.

~xXx~

He felt a little like he had the day he'd paraded the local _under 14s flower-arranging_ trophy through the school corridors, except that this time he hopefully wouldn't' get laughed at and hit. Alex was on his arm like the biggest prize of all. He'd bundled her into the toilets to get changed into her new clothes and she had emerged feeling annoyed, self-conscious and not at all like herself.

"Now that is _much_ more like it," a large gloating grin appeared around his face as he circled her a little like a wild animal encroaching on their prey. She froze on the spot as his hands came to rest upon her shoulders and dusted them down for imaginary lint, no more than an excuse to exert his touch upon her. She watched him coolly as he walked around her, determined not to let her eyes betray even a hint of emotion. She felt lost, trapped and scared but there was one person she was determined not to show that. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

"I feel like a member of Milli Vanilli," she mumbled as she tried to adjust to the giant shoulder pads.

Keats completely ignored her.

"I know you think this is all a little unnecessary, Alex," he began, "but you'll soon see the difference. Soon you will wonder how you ever let Hunt and those other meatballs treat you like a pair of breasts on legs."

"I did not _ever_ feel that way," Alex told him crossly. In honestly he could say what he liked about her and she didn't care; she could block almost anything out, but the moment he started on the people she cared about who weren't there to defend themselves he crossed a line. He didn't seem to notice though.

"This is a whole new world," he told her as he took her arm and began to lead her through the corridors, showing her off like the most valuable trinket.

Alex considered asking if he was about to break into song but thought better of it. She knew that she needed to keep calm and centred. This was just one of the little hoops she had to jump through. She knew she had no choice but to play along to begin with. This was just a small step up on the ladder. She'd be standing on her own two feet soon. She just needed to focus on that part.

The feeling in his chest swelled and burned as he led her through to the main office of Fenchurch West CID. With every head that turned his pride and smugness grew a little more. _That's right,_ he screamed with the look in his eyes, _you stare. Just carry on gawping. Because she's mine. She's all mine._

He watched the faces of the men and women that turned to watch her entrance to the department. There was jealousy across every last one, in his own mind that was a fact. The women all wanted to be her, the men all wanted her on their arm. But Keats had her, and she was one of a kind.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of Fenchurch West," he gave a broad smile and laid an arm across Alex's shoulders as through to drill home the point of whom she belonged to, "I'd like you all to give a warm _western_ welcome to Alex Drake," his eyes turned to her as he said curtly, "our new detective sergeant."

Alex's eyes widened in an instant and her neck snapped around. All at once her body turned cold as she stared at him and hissed,

"_DS?"_

"Alex," Keats spread his palm innocently, "you've been out of the force for the last three years," he spoke as though he was using great patience to explain a complicated matter to a child, "you can't expect to step straight back in. That's what all your retraining is about, you _know_ that."

"You said I had to read some rules and regulations," Alex reminded him through gritted teeth.

"We have to do things by the book, _DS Drake_," Keats told her, his deep, dark eyes focused upon her, "or we could end up _both_ facing disciplinary and dismissal, and then you could be right back where you started. You don't want to be back on the street with no money and no ID, do you?"

Alex's breath caught as she realised once again that she was most certainly stuck where she was. He was right; if she left now she would have nothing. She swallowed and tried to calm herself as she felt her temper starting to flare; she needed to be cool and sensible about this. This was just a small blip, an extra leg of the journey. It wasn't as though she was planning to spend the rest of her career at Fenchurch West, climbing the ranks. So she'd spend a few months as a DS – so what? It was no big deal.

_Bide your time, _she told herself, bite your lip and go along with it. _Because in the end it doesn't matter what it says on your arrest warrant. You are Detective Inspector Alex Drake. You are strong. You are a fighter. And you are GOING to come out on top._

But Keats couldn't have cared less what was going on inside of Alex's head as he watched the jealous masses peering at her warily. He felt like the kid who brought in the best, biggest, most expensive toy on the last day if term and, for him, the games were just about to begin.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Back in the highly medicated corner so time for this fic to get an update! I just wanted to say thankyou to those of you who are reading and a huge thank you to Fen for reviewing (I owe you a PM later x)**_

_**Also I wanted to give two quick reminders about this fic; first of all that it is the same 'universe' as my main series of stories but the one difference is that Alex jumped from the wrong window and did not go back to working with Gene at Fenchurch West so one of the challenges with this is trying to keep to what I have already established as canon but applying it to the changed universe. My brain is warping! The other reminder is that this is a much darker work than my usual fics. I can't promise any happy outcomes or uplifting events in this piece, this is where my dark feelings come out when I'm trying to deal with higher levels if pain and I'm channelling them into something constructive. I owe Ranty a massive bundle of thanks for helping me take back the darkness and run with it after avoiding it for so long x**_


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